To Cry
by iamfreak
Summary: The thoughts of Alphonse Elric aren't always cheery. [Oneshot]


To Cry 

Alphonse Elric layed on one of two small beds that occupied the bare room. They had been traveling again, Edward and himself, stumbling into a small town in search of the little red miracle that could restore their bodies back to normal. Al tried to sleep, begging blissful unconsciousness to take his mind away from the dark thoughts that threatened to consume him if he gave in. But sleep eluded him, pieces of metal don't sleep. 'But neither are they awake,' his brain taunted him, desperate for the flesh his soul had once occupied.

He gazed over at his brother, not daring to follow that train of thought. The blond alchemist lay still his breathing even, but the boy's sleep was by no means peaceful. His face was scrunched up, protesting some unknown forces in his head, yet he remained silent. Al turned away, brother could offer him no assurance, no peace of mind, no remedy for the thoughts that poisoned his sanity now.

Forcing mind blank, he sat up. Walking over to the window, he opened it, letting a cool night breeze gently enter the room. He sighed as best he could without any lungs. The breeze was nothing to him, not a brisk comfort, or a cool refresher, nothing. His very skin, if you could even call it skin, was cold, colder than any breeze. What so many others would have welcomed to help calm their mind only fueled the turmoil in Al's soul. He was attempting to get a grip on his humanity. 'Why bother?' his mind teased, 'when you're not even human?' He quickly repressed the thought, denying the panic and depression before he _couldn't_ stop it. 'I _am_ human.'

'No, you _were_ human,' the devils of his soul argued. 'Humans have reactions; humans blush; humans sweat; humans eat; humans shiver; humans bleed. _Humans_ can cry.'

He wanted to cry. Oh, how he wanted to cry. It was impossible to deny his fears forever. It would cost too much energy to refuse despair as often as he needed to. He knew he had to let it out soon, to let the horrible nightmarish thoughts plague his anguished soul, or he would have to pay the price. It was equivalent exchange again. In order to appear strong, to look as though he was fine as a pile of scrap metal in the form of a real human, he needed to be strong. It would cost strength to give the appearance of strength. But Al was tired. He was only 14 for crying out loud. He should be playing with friends and nervously flirting with some silly crush, not following his brother on military assignments, all spare time spent searching for the miracle stone that would give him a real body. It wasn't fair. He should have gained something for all that he had lost. The law should have made it ok, should have balanced it out. But equivalent exchange had failed him now, the time when he most wanted it to be true.

But he wasn't angry, the one feeling reverberating through his soul was anguish, despair, sorrow, because he wasn't quite human.

He wanted to cry.

He wanted to curl up into a small ball and retreat from the world, letting the pain and sadness flow from his body in two small streams of salty water. He wanted to close his eyes and forget everything, forget the emptiness, forget the all that he and his brother had gone through. He wanted to feel a warm wetness on his skin, to hear the quiet sobs rack his human lungs.

But he couldn't.

He wanted to cry, but couldn't.

He lifted a cold metal hand to his chest plate, hovering over the area where his heart should have been beating. But it wasn't. Inside the armor, in the spot where a warm body should have been, where _he_ should have been, instead of relying on a pattern drawn in his own brother's blood to connect him to an inanimate object. He felt empty, but he always felt empty. He _was_ empty. How was now any different from every other moment as a hollow shell?

That's what he was, wasn't he? A shell, a meager fragment of the boy who was lost without his mother, the boy he had once been.

'You're not even human now,' the devils had returned to tease his pathetic self.

He wanted to cry.

He looked back out the window, back at the stars. If only he could be like the stars. They always shined. They were stars and they always would be, burning as stars until they died. They were never cold and empty; they never had to doubt what they were. They never had to fight simply to be the same as when they were created. Their brother never had to sell his soul to the military just so they could have the flesh and blood they were born with.

He envied the stars.

But the jealousy was soon lost. It was pointless, right? Even with the current circumstances he didn't want to be a star. He had faith in Ed. If anyone could find a way to put him in the flesh, he was sure brother was that person. They'd have their bodies back some day.

But tonight…

Tonight he wanted to cry.


End file.
